Read Online Belle De Jour by Joseph Kessel - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Joseph Kessel
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certificate here. Pick what you want, only it has to be a nice cute name. Pleasing, you know what I mean. Well, we’ll find one. The girls and I’ll find one that fits you like a glove, you’ll see.”
Mme Anaïs stopped and listened. Laughter filtered from the far end of the corridor.
“Mathilde and Charlotte must have finished withM Adolphe,” she said, “one of our very best clients. A salesman. He’s really loaded, and what a character. Pretty much everyone who comes here is O.K. You’ll get along fine, I’m sure. Meanwhile what about a little something to celebrate your start, what’d you like? I’ve got anything you want. Look.”
From a closet opposite the one in which Séverine had put her hat, Mme Anaïs pulled out several bottles. Séverine picked one at random, and drank without tasting anything while Mme Anaïs lengthily inhaled her anisette. When she had drunk it she went on:
“For the time being we’ll call you Belle de Jour. How’s that for size? O.K., dearie? You satisfy pretty easy, don’t you. Still a little shy, but that’s natural. As long as you can get away by five, that’s the idea, isn’t it, then everything’s O.K. You in love with him?” Séverine recoiled. “Oh don’t worry, I’m not going to make you tell me your secrets. You’ll tell me plenty on your own soon enough. I’m not your boss, you know, more like your friend. Hell, I guess I ought to know something about life by now … And, sure, I like my job better than yours, but it wasn’t you or me who made the rules, honey. Now come and kiss me, my little Belle de Jour.”
There was true generosity in Mme Anaïs’ tone; all the same, Séverine disengaged herself quickly from that embrace. With a frown, her whole face drawn and pale, she stared toward the room from which laughter had come a few seconds before. Silence reigned there now, punctuated by muffled noises. And it seemed to Séverine that those noises regulated the beating of herheart. Her eyes were so fixed, so full of animal distress as she looked toward Mme Anaïs, that for a second perhaps the madame felt something of the carnal drama over which she daily presided. An uneasy half-smile appeared on her benevolent lips. Her eyes, too, turned to the room which she rented in all good faith, then looked back at Séverine. They exchanged one of those intimate glances which are always regretted later on because they reveal too deep a truth. It was a look of terrible sexual fear.
“Come on, come on,” and Mme Anaïs shook her blonde permanent, “you’ll put me in a bad mood. Like I said just now, dearie, we didn’t make the world, you and I.”
A rather hoarse but definitely gay cry came down the corridor.
“Mme Anaïs, we need you.”
“Must be Charlotte developing a thirst.”
Mme Anaïs went out smiling comfortably. As soon as she’d gone Séverine rose in a single motion. Escape … she had to escape, she couldn’t stay here another moment. She couldn’t connect her presence in this place with anything real, or possible. She’d forgotten the boatman, she’d forgotten Pierre, she’d forgotten even Mme Anaïs herself. She had no idea what had brought her here and this very fact filled her with a wild desire for liberty. But she didn’t move.
A man’s voice could be heard crying reproachfully, “There’s a new girl here and you haven’t brought her in. That’s not nice.”
Mme Anaïs appeared, took Séverine by the arm, and led her off.
“Here’s Belle de Jour,” exclaimed a very dark girl.
The room Séverine found herself in was the one Mme Anaïs had shown her that morning. Though she no longer recognized it, still it was a far cry from the carnivorous sexual cavern which she had just been imagining. The bed was a little rumpled, a vest hung over a chair, two shoes were set side by side on the floor: all attested to a kind of middle-class licentiousness. And the sanctimoniously smiling man who sat in the armchair and dutifully
Mme Anaïs stopped and listened. Laughter filtered from the far end of the corridor.
“Mathilde and Charlotte must have finished withM Adolphe,” she said, “one of our very best clients. A salesman. He’s really loaded, and what a character. Pretty much everyone who comes here is O.K. You’ll get along fine, I’m sure. Meanwhile what about a little something to celebrate your start, what’d you like? I’ve got anything you want. Look.”
From a closet opposite the one in which Séverine had put her hat, Mme Anaïs pulled out several bottles. Séverine picked one at random, and drank without tasting anything while Mme Anaïs lengthily inhaled her anisette. When she had drunk it she went on:
“For the time being we’ll call you Belle de Jour. How’s that for size? O.K., dearie? You satisfy pretty easy, don’t you. Still a little shy, but that’s natural. As long as you can get away by five, that’s the idea, isn’t it, then everything’s O.K. You in love with him?” Séverine recoiled. “Oh don’t worry, I’m not going to make you tell me your secrets. You’ll tell me plenty on your own soon enough. I’m not your boss, you know, more like your friend. Hell, I guess I ought to know something about life by now … And, sure, I like my job better than yours, but it wasn’t you or me who made the rules, honey. Now come and kiss me, my little Belle de Jour.”
There was true generosity in Mme Anaïs’ tone; all the same, Séverine disengaged herself quickly from that embrace. With a frown, her whole face drawn and pale, she stared toward the room from which laughter had come a few seconds before. Silence reigned there now, punctuated by muffled noises. And it seemed to Séverine that those noises regulated the beating of herheart. Her eyes were so fixed, so full of animal distress as she looked toward Mme Anaïs, that for a second perhaps the madame felt something of the carnal drama over which she daily presided. An uneasy half-smile appeared on her benevolent lips. Her eyes, too, turned to the room which she rented in all good faith, then looked back at Séverine. They exchanged one of those intimate glances which are always regretted later on because they reveal too deep a truth. It was a look of terrible sexual fear.
“Come on, come on,” and Mme Anaïs shook her blonde permanent, “you’ll put me in a bad mood. Like I said just now, dearie, we didn’t make the world, you and I.”
A rather hoarse but definitely gay cry came down the corridor.
“Mme Anaïs, we need you.”
“Must be Charlotte developing a thirst.”
Mme Anaïs went out smiling comfortably. As soon as she’d gone Séverine rose in a single motion. Escape … she had to escape, she couldn’t stay here another moment. She couldn’t connect her presence in this place with anything real, or possible. She’d forgotten the boatman, she’d forgotten Pierre, she’d forgotten even Mme Anaïs herself. She had no idea what had brought her here and this very fact filled her with a wild desire for liberty. But she didn’t move.
A man’s voice could be heard crying reproachfully, “There’s a new girl here and you haven’t brought her in. That’s not nice.”
Mme Anaïs appeared, took Séverine by the arm, and led her off.
“Here’s Belle de Jour,” exclaimed a very dark girl.
The room Séverine found herself in was the one Mme Anaïs had shown her that morning. Though she no longer recognized it, still it was a far cry from the carnivorous sexual cavern which she had just been imagining. The bed was a little rumpled, a vest hung over a chair, two shoes were set side by side on the floor: all attested to a kind of middle-class licentiousness. And the sanctimoniously smiling man who sat in the armchair and dutifully
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